My Inner Child Plays With Matches
by Fellowshipper
Summary: Once in a while, the perfect relationship comes along. Then a pair like Matt and Adam comes along that makes you want to give up on true love.
1. Default Chapter

Title: My Inner Child Plays With Matches

Rating: PG-13, bordering on R-ish for slash stuff (nothing graphic) and language. 

Disclaimer: If I owned them, neither Edge nor Matt would be seen in long pants again on TV. It'd be hot pants. That's why I don't have a nice plush office in Titan Towers somewhere, too. 

Notes: This was in answer to Stasia's challenge issued a few days ago. A bit of warning to those of you who get squicked easily: it's both slash and real-person fic, so if that bugs you, go play somewhere else. 

******

"Uh . . . Matt? See, there's this neat little invention they put in cars a few years ago. It's called a turn signal. It's your friend, trust me." 

Matt Hardy sighed and took another hard right turn, sending his passenger flying halfway over the armrest between them. 

"I lived here most'a my life, Adam. I think I know when an' where to use turn signals." 

"I don't think you ever passed Driver's Ed!" Adam shrieked, gripping the dashboard with one hand and the windowframe with the other. Matt allowed a tiny smile, taking one last sharp turn and then speeding up once they made it onto a narrow blacktop-covered road that wound seemingly into the woods themselves. 

"Never took it, actually," Matt confessed while fumbling with the radio dials, nodding in approval when an old Megadeth song blared from the speakers. "I passed it up. Not enough room in my schedule. Took a graphic design class instead." He paused to shift the truck into a higher gear and effectively throw Adam against his seat. "And besides - remember when we were on the UK tour and I trusted you to drive? And you, bein' the all-knowing driver you are, forgot the lane switch deal and almost got us nailed by a delivery truck?" 

"One time, Matt. One time I forgot to drive in the left lane. Let it go already." 

"I saw my life flash before my eyes, man," Matt continued, laughing a bit as he did. The paved road eventually gave way to a dirt path worn with use. The truck sped up as if of its own accord when it saw the familiar ground, making a large dust trail in its wake. 

Adam Copeland was, to his credit, not squealing like a little girl. There was a whimper here or there and the occasional incisive curse, but as yet no squealing. "Matt, I don't mean to sound like I'm nitpicking or anything, but . . .uh . . .where exactly *did* you learn to drive?" 

"Here." 

"Here as in the state?" 

Matt shook his head, causing dark hair to fall into his face. "No, here as in on this road." 

"Oh. Great. Reassuring, uh huh," Adam grumbled, turning his attention out the open window to see trees flying past at a blinding speed. "I'm gonna die here." 

"Dad had an old model-t me an' Jeff used to drive up an' down the road. Only problem was we were too short to reach the pedals, so we had to tie wood blocks to 'em." He smiled faintly in remembrance. "I don't know if he ever found out or not." 

"You got your license from Wal-Mart, didn't you?" 

"Hey, it was cheaper." Matt glanced over to see Adam's eyes wide and frightened and he laughed. "Oh, c'mon. Y'know I'm just jokin'. I'm really not that bad a driver compared to Jeff." 

Adam cringed and unconsciously tightened his grip on the window frame. "That's like saying you drive better than a blind, deaf, suicidal four-year-old." 

Matt started to make a rebuttal in his younger brother's defense before he realized that the comment was fairly accurate. Rather than start another argument, he went back to enjoying the song on the radio. 

The previous day had been spent flying from San Diego to North Carolina to kick off what several WWF employees had affectionately termed the Bible Belt Tour. The next several events would take place in the south and east coast, gradually moving north for the pay-per-view in New York's Madison Square Garden. With their usual travel partners being missing-in-action for varying reasons - Jeff being stuck with a meet-n-greet fan event in Tennessee and Jay nursing a sore shoulder back at home in Toronto, though Adam secretly suspected it was more because he had the entire previous Maple Leaf season taped and had yet been given a chance to watch it all - they were in effect paired together by extenuating circumstances. Matt had, naturally, opted to spend the next couple free days at home with his family. 

Of course, Adam, being a native Canadian, could adapt considerably well to even the coldest Minnesota and Michigan winters. He was not, however, adept at handling early August Carolina weather. It was because of that particular defect that he sat virtually panting in the passenger's seat. It was also providing Matt with no small amount of entertainment.

"Would you stop it? It's not that hot at all. I think it's pretty nice, actually." 

Adam turned incredulous eyes to his friend, revealing a few strands of blond hair plastered to his sweat-covered face. "Yeah, well, so says the guy who got his license from a junk-for-a-quarter machine at Wal-Mart." 

"Adam, it's only eighty-six. The humidity ain't even that high today. You should be thankful." 

In response, Adam huffed and crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. "So this is Hell." 

"Nah. My senior trip was to Atlanta. Go there an' then you can come talk to me about being hot." 

"Like I don't talk about being hot enough as it is," Adam pointed out with a small grin. Matt's brow furrowed in thought for a moment, then he rolled his eyes. 

"Y'know vanity's a sin, don't you?" 

"Yeah. It's my favorite one, right next to lust and gluttony." Matt glared. "What? I'm a guy. I like to eat, watch TV, and have sex . . . not necessarily in that order." He stopped to place a cigarette in his mouth and light it, much to Matt's distaste. "But I gotta admit, sloth has its advantages, too." 

"Cancer." 

Adam frowned. "Call me stupid, but I don't get the connection." 

"Cancer stick in a white wrapper. That's all those things are," Matt explained with a pointed look to the open pack of cigarettes now resting on the dashboard. 

Adam rolled his eyes and took an exaggerated drag from the cigarette. "Okay, now that's just wrong. You sound just like Mom and Jay." Silence due to a thoughtful pause. "And damn near every girlfriend I've ever had." 

"Maybe you should listen to 'em once in a while. Didn't you ever watch those li'l films in school about what those things to your body?" 

"Huh uh. I must have been busy smoking in the bathroom," he answered with a low chuckle. "Yes, Matt, I've seen the movies and heard the guest speakers and read everything about how the Marlboro Man is the Antichrist, but I can't help it if I like 'em anyway." 

The argument faded into silence, giving Adam time to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. It took a moment of close inspection to find they were in fact traveling down a road that ran alongside a single front yard. Impressive as it was, it paled in comparison to the two story white washed house a couple hundred yards away that even from that distance made Adam's eyes widen slightly. Of course, he had grown up with his mother in a two bedroom house that was barely even large enough for the both of them. Anything larger had a tendency to stun him, and something like this seemed purely excessive. 

Matt glanced casually to his right and was unable to suppress a laugh. "What's wrong with you?" 

Adam shook his head. "I'm just expecting a horse and buggy to pop up somewhere. Or maybe some Southern belle'll walk out on the porch with a parasol and fanning herself." 

"Not unless it's my aunt Tammy, but she's not exactly Scarlett O' Hara." 

"Y'know," Adam started, flicking the remains of the cigarette out the window, "I watched this movie a long time ago - one o' those made for TV deals - and Angelina Jolie was this big Southern belle type. You wouldn't have anyone like her around, wouldja?" 

Matt snorted as he pulled into the gravel driveway and slid the key out of the truck's ignition. "Haven't seen one yet, no. Welcome to the twentieth century, Adam." 

While they exited the truck and pulled their duffel bags from the bed, Adam looked nervously down at the Yankee 2000 World Series shirt he'd stolen from Jay's bag when he wasn't looking. It was, coincidentally, the only thing he'd been able to find that morning that seemed even remotely fit for wearing. "No one's gonna kill me for this, are they?" He asked with a vague gesture to his chest. Matt stifled a huff. 

"Also, being the twentieth century, not all of us really care about the Civil War." 

"Good." 

"Which isn't to say Dad's not a Braves fan," Matt went on, smiling to himself at the look on Adam's face. He didn't dwell on it, though; rather, he started up the porch steps and entered without knocking. 

Two hours later, after extensive introductions and gossip, Matt and Adam both sat on the back porch, each holding a bottle of Coke. Matt was just about ready to get up and throw his empty bottle into the trash can by the door when he noticed Adam staring expectantly at him. Although he ignored it at first, after two minutes of solid staring his curiosity got the best of him. 

"What?" 

Adam shrugged and looked back out into the yard. "I'm just waiting for you to start about the history of this place and how some great battle was fought in your back yard or something." 

"Would you get off it already? Not everyone in the south has a Civil War story. Stereotypes are just that. You should know, hockey boy." 

Adam's eyebrows shot up defensively. "What's wrong with hockey?" 

Matt shook his head, refusing to answer as he pulled open the screen door and tossed the bottle in the trash. 

"You're just jealous 'cause you never get any ice to play hockey on." 

"Really." 

"Yeah."

"Well, it's good to know all this pent-up aggression has a source." 

"Glad I could help." Adam paused long enough to light another cigarette, paying no attention to Matt's reaction. "But seriously, Matt, I've never seen a house this big for real. I mean, not one that someone I knew lived in." 

Matt remained silent on the matter, opting instead to change the subject entirely. "About what you said earlier . . ." 

"There really is an Angelina Jolie person around here?" 

"No." 

"Damn." 

"Sorry," Matt shrugged, turning a bit in his seat. "No, about you bein' hot." 

Adam's smile gradually faltered and slipped. No good could possibly come from this line of talk. None. "Uh, maybe I should -" 

"Stay and talk? Great. I think so, too," Matt interrupted, pulling his chair closer, the wicker surface scratching noisily against the porch's wooden surface. Their eyes locked, unsettling enough to make Adam gulp visibly. 

"Matt, I-I know where you're going with this, and you need to stop right there." 

Matt poked his lips out into a barely-there pout, the same one that had suckered Adam into falling for him in the first place. Weeks earlier, a post-event binge sent them both on a drunken spree, during which they taped every article of Jeff's clothing to the hotel walls, filled the bathtub full in Jay's room and threw every shoe and sock he had with him in there to soak overnight, and eventually ended up more or less screwing each other senseless the rest of the night. Needless to say, the whole ordeal had left them both more than a little confused about their feelings. Even while Adam was trying everything he knew to forget the most passionate night he'd ever spent with anyone, let alone another guy, Matt seemed persistent in reminding him every chance he got. 

Drawing closer, Matt reached out and brushed the hair out of Adam's face, then moved his fingers down to trace the outline of his lips. Eyes closed, Adam allowed himself to lean into the touch before coming to his senses and pulling away. "Matt, don't," he whispered in a barely audible voice. "Please." 

Despite his own wish to push on, Matt complied and slumped back against his seat. Adam took the opportunity to run while he could and before his common sense lost out to unbridled want. 

"Twenty-first," he commented suddenly when he reached for the screen door. Matt's brow creased, to which Adam continued, "it's the twenty-first century, not the twentieth." 

He disappeared from Matt's view without another word. 


	2. 2

The only thing that could really compare to the smell of fresh coffee in the morning was the taste of straight, black, fresh coffee. 

"Mmm. Liquid caffeine," Adam murmured into his coffee mug on his way out the back door. After practically living out of a Starbucks for the past few years, it was quite a pleasant treat to wake up greeted by a newly brewed pot of coffee. He scratched absently at his t-shirt and padded barefoot onto the porch. Even though he was pretty sure he'd had more than one embarrassing dream involving Matt that night, it was still nice to wake up in his house and walk outside to hear birds chirping, a lawnmower somewhere in the distance, and . . . Soundgarden? 

Having already ventured to the bottom step of the porch, fully intending to sit down and enjoy the peaceful morning, Adam continued out into the yard in attempts to follow the music. He stopped just beneath a large oak tree, looked up, and choked on a sip of coffee due to a sudden snort. A small but detailed tree house stood nestled in the branches overhead, wooden blocks nailed to the tree to serve as steps. Matt's shirt was lying in the window, swaying just slightly in the humid breeze. 

Adam climbed up into the doorway of the tree house, smirking when he caught sight of his friend. Matt was sitting in the corner with his legs crossed at the ankles, a small notebook open in his lap. His head bent over the paper while he wrote, though dark hair continually fell in his face because of the bobbing motion in time to the headphones he wore. 

"Fell on . . . black days," Adam sung along louder than he really needed to. It was enough, though; Matt yanked the headphones off and jumped back against the tree house wall, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. "Hey. You know, those kinda listening habits make people go deaf." 

"You son of a bitch!" Matt almost squeaked out, slamming his notebook shut. "You scared the shit outta me!" 

"Sorry," Adam replied with something that fell just a bit short of sincerity. 

Matt rolled his eyes and slid the notebook behind him, as if trying to pretend it had never been visible at all. "What're you doin' up here?" 

"S'funny. I was gonna ask the same thing." 

"Hey, it's *my* treehouse." 

"Touche," Adam conceded, climbing the rest of the way up the makeshift steps and into the little building itself. As he did, he noticed Matt trying in vain to be as discreet as possible while pushing the notebook out of view. Adam folded his legs Indian style, finished off the coffee, then directed his full attention to Matt. "Whatcha workin' on?" 

"Nothin'," Matt blatantly lied, seemingly not bothered in the least by it. Adam, being Adam, refused to back off and went ruthlessly on. 

"Don't tell me there's another poetic Hardy. I swear by all I hold holy if I have to read one more poem about being the misunderstood Romeo in a relationship, I'll . . . do something. Yeah." 

For all that, Matt could only shake his head. "No, Ah don't do poetry." 

Adam's eyebrows raised to an amused peak. "Anyone ever tell you your accent gets a lot thicker when you're defensive? I mean, there's nothing wrong with poetry if you don't go on and on about a girlfriend you never had . . ." 

"Look, Ah don't write poetry, okay?" 

"Paranoia is an ugly thing, Matthew." 

"Go to Hell." 

"I told you yesterday: I'm already there," Adam replied easily with a shrug. Not at all willing to let the argument die, he struck with surprising quickness and snatched the notebook away, thumbing through several blank pages before stopping at a page Matt didn't even need to see to recognize by the expression on his companion's face. Mortified, Matt dropped his head to bury his face in his knees. 

"Oh. Uh . . ." Adam cleared his throat, staring wide-eyed at the notebook. "I, uh, didn't know you could draw." 

Matt let a weak, pitiful whimper escape him but otherwise refused to comment. Met only with obstinate silence, Adam was free to take a closer look at the picture. As evidence of Matt's notorious one-track mind, a frighteningly detailed and well-done drawing was sketched on the page. That in itself was not terribly unsettling - it was the subject matter itself. A figure that bore a remarkable likeness to Adam himself was naked and stretched across a messy bed, the sheets wound about his waist and sparing his decency only through a strategically folded wrinkle in the cloth. 

For the first time he could remember, Adam was at a complete loss for words. Unable to say anything remotely intelligent, he stayed quiet and traced his finger along the spiral binding of the notebook. After several tense seconds of unsettling quiet, Matt finally looked up and locked eyes with him. 

"You weren't supposed to see that." 

"Yeah, I kinda got that impression," Adam agreed with a crooked grin that made Matt want to slap him and then kiss him until he was breathless. "Anyway, I think you've got some serious issues you need to work out. Maybe you should go on Oprah or Dr. Ruth's show or something." He looked back down at the picture, a faint reddish tint rising in his cheeks as he did so. "Or Howard Stern. He'd appreciate this, I'm sure." 

Matt's brow narrowed. "Incase y'ain't noticed, I've been tryin' to work through those 'issues' but you haven't exactly been making it easy on me." 

"Point." Adam sent his gaze to the floor of the treehouse, deciding his best move might be to change the subject altogether. "I didn't know you wore glasses." 

Matt shrugged his bare shoulders carelessly. "I usually don't. Some days, though, I get up an' I just don't feel like poking plastic into my eyes." 

Adam nodded knowingly, but Matt was already up and on his feet before anything else could be said on the matter. He stopped at the doorway as if debating over some intense inner struggle. That did not go unnoticed by Adam. 

"What're you thinkin' about? I can almost see smoke coming out of your ears." 

"Tryin' to figure out if I jumped outta the treehouse how long I'd be in a cast and how much vacation time I'd get." 

Adam peered out over the edge of the doorway, then back to Matt. "Nah. Couple days at most. You're Jeff's brother. You'd just, like, bounce or something equally as inhuman. It's a Hardy thing. Maybe it's something in the water 'round these here parts," Adam proceeded in an overblown accent. Matt rolled his eyes and began the slow decent down the steps. 

"Can I tell you somethin' without horribly offending you an' your family name?" When greeted only with a set of pursed lips in response, Matt gave a little sideways grin of his own and reclaimed his notebook from Adam's unsuspecting grip. "You do one shitty Southern accent." 

"Eh? I don't get it. Eh?" 

"Oh, shut UP!" Matt nearly screamed, remembering the last time he, his brother, Adam, and Jay had gotten together and ended up renting movies for a night. One of them was Matt's personal favorite cult classic, Strange Brew. The result was seeing Jay and Adam reenact the hockey-playing-Storm Troopers scene at random intervals throughout the night. And as a result of that, Matt truly wished to never see the movie again. Ever. 

"Eh?" 

"God, Adam..."

"Same difference." 

Matt scowled but kept walking anyway. "Anyone tell you today what a complete an' total asshole you are?" 

Adam shook his head, making loose strands of hair fly over his eyes. "Huh uh. But I've only been up for about fifteen minutes an' the day's still young, eh?" The notebook suddenly landed against the back of his head with a satisfying thwak. "Ow! What was that for?" 

"It flew there, I swear it." 

"You've really got some serious issues, you know that?" 

"Yeah. Y'remind me about it on a daily freaking basis." Matt huffed and pulled his shirt back on, then jerked a thumb in the general direction of the woods off to his left. "C'mere. I wanna show you somethin'." 

Adam was, to say the very least, suspicious. "You're not gonna tell me you've got a pet bear, are you?" 

Matt rolled his eyes and took off walking toward the woods even without his friend. 

"It was just a joke!" 

Despite the disagreement, both of them eventually ended up heading into the wood entrance, Matt leading the way and dodging around the closely-grown trees and stumps more gracefully than anyone really had a right to. Adam, on the other hand, was doing his best to stay alive, cursing every time he stepped into a pile of leaves and ended up sinking through the soft forest floor up to his ankles. Matt finally stopped dead in his tracks, very nearly stumbling to the ground when Adam plowed into him from behind. 

"Matt! For Christ's sake, listen to me about the brake lights!" 

Matt turned to make a witty rebuttal, but all hopes of that were dashed and replaced with a sharp laugh when he saw Adam trying desperately to pull a spider web out of his hair. "Adam, buddy, Ah just want ya t'know that if we ever got lost in the woods and only had a certain amount of time to get out, an' Ah had to stop every time you smacked into a tree or whatever . . . well, Ah'd sure have some fun stories t'share at y'funeral." 

Adam glared, at long last succeeding in pulling the rest of the web away. "Go take an English lesson, Carolina." 

"Ah'm sorry, that was pretty inconsiderate of me, huh?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and moved his arm in a sweeping arc motion meant to indicate the surroundings to his right. "Welcome to the Hardy Hideout." 


	3. 3 (end)

Adam's eyebrows arched as he tried to sweep moss off a tree stump, sighing when he was forced to sit on it anyway. "What is this? The hillbilly loveshack?" 

"It's as big as a whale!" Matt sang gleefully, if off-key. Adam faked a cringe and glanced around. He'd never admit it out loud, naturally, but he was mentally surveying the place and tucking little notes away for future reference. The so-called "Hardy Hideout" was an elaborate setup of large rocks, vines, and some worn netting overtop in what Adam had to assume was a roof. They appeared to be in the densest part of the woods, but even still a bit of sunshine was able to get through the treetops and cast sparkling shadows on the ground. 

"I feel like I shoulda brought bread crumbs with me," Adam grumbled, casting a mournful glance over his shoulder and regretting never having been on a real camping trip in his life. Well, there was the time he and Jay had decided to set up the tent in Jay's backyard when they were twelve, but the lights from the twenty-four hour Super Stop-n-Shop next door kind of ruined the whole effect. So did the homeless guy who could be heard on the shop's sidewalk ranting about the Nazis setting up camp next door and plotting World War III.

A sudden unidentifiable noise was heard behind him and Adam jumped up, grabbing a nearby stick and wielding it like a club. Matt dove behind the east wall of the Hideout and, after a few moments, revealed laughably wide eyes. 

"What the hell're you doin'?" 

"I heard something!" Adam replied as if insulted he really had to explain himself. He looked around, clutching the stick against his chest. "I've seen Deliverance! I know how these things go!" 

Matt started to reply but was instead interrupted by the rustling noise. Adam swung the stick wildly at the ground, swearing loudly when all he managed to accomplish was jab himself in the foot. Matt, on the other hand, watched in barely contained amusement as a chipmunk scurried off into the woods, fleeing for its furry life from the crazed madman that had just tried to club it while it was eating. 

"Well, I hope you're happy. That poor thing's gonna need some serious therapy now." 

"Him hell! What about me?" Adam yelled, throwing the stick down in disgust and flopping back onto the stump. "I saw my life flash before my eyes!" 

"So did that chipmunk. Didn't you ever watch Chip an' Dale when you were little? Or did you just watch the lumberjack network all day?" 

Adam, try as he might to fight it, had to chuckle at the remark. "So what's so great about your li'l lovenest or whatever it is?" 

"Me an' Jeff built it a long time ago when we were on summer vacation. It's nice an' shady, keeps bugs and furry animals at bay," he nodded his head towards the path the chipmunk had taken, "and is the only thing I ever built that hasn't fallen apart yet." 

"You mean you never made birdhouses in shop class? No one can screw up a birdhouse." 

Matt gave a sad little smile. "You remember that episode of Beavis an' Butthead when Beavis cuts his finger off in shop 'cause he's just bein' stupid?" 

"Yeah . . ." Realizing the connection, Adam sputtered in attempts to keep the laugh inside. He failed and ended up laughing and shaking his head in disbelief. "At least you didn't go into carpentry." He paused again to scratch at his ear. "I guess your inner child's got some love for woodwork and all that junk." 

"Everyone's inner child has a talent." 

"Yeah," Adam agreed with a straight face. "Mine plays with matches." 

Matt paused, then wisely chose to let the statement go. "I broke my shop teacher's dog's leg, too. I had to build a doghouse model. He liked it an' asked me to build one big enough for his dog. I was fine as long as it was just clay models." Matt sighed heavily and rose to his feet, brushing his knees off as he did so. "The first night the dog slept in it, the damn thing collapsed an' broke its leg in two places." 

Adam started to reply, then shut his mouth and continued laughing. 

"Look, I know I'm an idiot, okay?" 

Adam shook his head and held up his hand. "No, it's not that. I mean, yeah, you're an idiot," he smiled at Matt's expression, "but I was laughing about the time me an' Jay almost burnt down the chem lab in high school. We found out a little creativity and a bowl of dry ice can go a long, long way . . . especially when the student teacher sees the smoke, immediately thinks it's a fire, runs to the back of the room, knocks a burner over and starts a small electrical fire." He smirked at the memory, meeting Matt's humored gaze. "We got suspended, but it was worth it. The lab was shut down for weeks to redo the wiring." 

"Y'know," Matt started, "I'm just now realizing that maybe we all had way too much time on our hands when we were teens." 

"Yeah," Adam agreed without protest, nodding to the Hideout. "You an' Jeff made that, huh?" 

"Y'sound surprised." 

"I am. I just . . . I dunno. I picture you two wrangling cows or something. Riding horses into town to pick up girls. Charming them with your five-inch personalized belt buckles." 

"Guess what?" 

"Hmm?" 

"You're an asshole." 

Adam casually glanced to his watch, then smiled broadly. "Hey! I've only been up for half an hour! This has gotta be a new record." 

"No, I'm pretty sure your mom said that a couple minutes after you were born." 

"Harsh, Matt." 

"I know." 

"I've trained you well, Jedi." 

"The ways o' the dark side were stronger than me." 

"I." 

"What?" 

Adam gave an exaggerated sigh. "Stronger than I." 

"Okay, Canadian boy. Shouldn't you go learn French or something?" 

"That's Quebec." 

"Quebec, Ontario, what's the difference? It's all frozen tundra and hockey. And lumberjacks." 

"And Storm Troopers!" Adam piped up, face lighting accordingly. Matt groaned and started to round the corner of the Hideout. That was until he heard the tell-tale sound of a lighter striking. 

"Please tell me you're not tryin' to start a fire, 'cause Smokey the Bear would be very disappointed." 

He peeked around the corner, eyes narrowing to see an unlit cigarette dangling from Adam's lips, the light breeze making it impossible for him to successfully start it burning. 

"Shit," Adam grumbled miserably, striking the lighter twice more before looking up to see Matt watching him. "What?" 

"It's a sign." 

"Of?" 

Matt shrugged, stepping out from behind the Hideout. "I don't know. Maybe God's gettin' you back for skippin' health class so much in school." 

Unable or unwilling to think of an appropriate comeback, Adam went back to tending to his cigarette. It took several more tries to succeed, but his joy was short-lived; after the first inhalation, Matt stalked over, grabbed the cigarette, and threw it to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot. 

"That's it. You're Lucifer. I'm sure of it now." 

Matt offered an indifferent shrug, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. "Those things are bad for you." 

"Gee, thanks, Mom." Adam rubbed his hands over his face, for what had to be the hundredth time looking down and wondering why he hadn't worn shoes outside, and then looked back up at Matt. "I don't think you understand, Matt. I need my nicotine rush." 

"Says who?" 

"Me. I get in a pissy mood without it. Then I say things I wouldn't say otherwise." 

"I know. I've seen you on long flights," Matt groused, grabbing the pack of cigarettes still in Adam's hand and sending them to the ground, crushing them in the same spot as the first. Adam's eyes bulged slightly in surprise. 

"Fuck! Matt, what was that for?" 

"They're bad for you. If you don't mind, I'd like to keep you around for a while. With lungs, thanks." 

Adam's eyes narrowed to thin green slits that reminded Matt eerily of a cat after its prey. "What do you care what I do with *my* lungs?" 

The entire conversation seemed so incredibly ridiculous to Matt he had a hard time maintaining a fairly straight face. It was just his next comment that made him really begin to wonder on his sanity - or lack thereof. "Because if anything's gonna be takin' the air out of 'em, it'll be me." 

Though he winced as if expecting Adam to deck him, Adam stood perfectly still. His voice, however, was lower than before and certainly much harsher to Matt's ears. "What, you think I think it's charming you like playing a fucking babysitter with me?" He asked with accusatory eyes. Matt was stopped before he could even think of answering. "No, Matt, I'm sick of this. You tell me what I should do, what I shouldn't do, what's good and bad for me, where I should go, who I should go with, what kind of toothpaste to buy . . . It was a one night stand, okay? Do you not understand that? It was *one* night. We were both drunk and horny, and at that point I think we would have fucked stuffed animals if we could've figured out a way how. Get it through. Your. Head," Adam finished, poking Matt in the temple with his index finger to punctuate each word. 

"Um . . ." 

"What?" 

Matt looked up sheepishly through long, dark lashes. "You might be a total asshole, but just so y'know, you're also pretty damn sexy when you're mad." 

Adam threw his hands up in frustration, turning and beginning to walk away. He might have made it more than a few feet if Matt wouldn't have grabbed his wrist and pulled him backwards hard enough to almost knock him off balance. Matt found himself pinned against one of the walls of the Hideout, a situation that was changed as quickly as it was discovered; he rolled to his left, effectively pressing Adam up against the huge rock and temporarily forgetting the considerable height difference between them. It really was hard to be intimidating while looking upward. 

"You're a horrible liar, Adam, always have been. That picture in my notebook? I started it that night. Maybe y'won't admit it or y'don't want to for some stupid reason, but you don't know what you did t'me. Hell, *I* don't even really know what y'did t'me, just that you took something I've been trying to get back ever since." 

"I gave your sock back to you -" 

"Just shut up, stop bein' a smartass for a minute, an' listen," Matt ordered sharply. Adam obediently silenced himself. "I don't know what your problem is or why you won't just admit we had somethin' an' it wasn't just 'cause of the beer. I care about you, alright? Yes, you're Canadian, you're arrogant, you think you're some kinda English literary god, you've got an endless supply of redneck jokes, you're the poster child for every major cigarette company on Earth, an' you have some o' the most God-awful music tastes I've ever heard, but damn it all, everything wrong with you just makes you better. You're gorgeous, Adam, not that you don't remind me about that every day. You're funny. You make me smile. You hog the covers. You eat Chinese food with your fingers 'cause you can't figure out how to work the chopsticks. You talk in your sleep about a cactus named Randy. You're a borderline psychotic, yeah, but I . . ." Matt stopped suddenly, swallowing hard and taking a tiny step backwards. 

"Don't you dare even fucking think of saying it, Hardy." 

Matt turned his eyes to the ground, scanning it like he actually cared to find something there. Well, he had his chance, he mused to himself, watching a leaf blow delicately across the forest floor. And, as usual, you blew it. 

"I'm not ready for that yet." 

Matt looked up to see Adam's eyes locked on his, though they were softer than before and not quite as angry. He pulled Matt closer, sinking back against the rock to compensate for the height difference. "Sandy." 

"Huh?" 

Adam cupped Matt's face in his hands, drawing him close enough so that their lips just barely touched. "The cactus. It's Sandy, not Randy. Get it right next time or I'll kick your ass. She's a sensitive cactus." 

The comment was silly enough by itself, but it was the fact Matt honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not that made him erupt into uncontrollable giggles. Adam, after a bit of persuasion, joined in on the laughter, running gentle circles along Matt's cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. 

"You know," he began, opening his eyes and touching Matt's eyebrows to hint for him to do the same, "I would've slept with you regardless. I think getting drunk just made me do it sooner." He paused for a moment, pulling Matt's glasses off. "I'll deny I ever said it and probably put a hex on your family if you try to prove otherwise, but you've got beautiful eyes." 

"That's it? I laud you with complements an' all that an' all you say's I got nice eyes?" 

"If it's any consolation, you actually used 'laud' in the right context. I mean, what else do you want me to say? You butcher the English language, you listen to me when I'm asleep and that's my private time, you draw lewd pictures of me in your notebooks, you steal my cigarettes and throw them out car windows, give them to random people on the street when I'm not watching, fill them with tissue paper, you listen to Johnny freaking Cash . . . really, Matt, what else am I supposed to like about you?" 

Matt faked a pout. "You're cruel." 

Smiling lightly, Adam gave a light peck on the lips. "But you've never found out about how I end up giving the blanket back when I see you shivering in your sleep, or that I purposely eat Chinese food that way because I like the way you watch my mouth when I slurp the stuff, or even that some of your brother's horribly sappy poems are actually starting to make sense to me." 

Matt blushed a bright, humiliating shade of red that only served to make him more embarrassed. It was enough to make Adam laugh at his misfortune, tugging Matt closer still for another kiss, this time longer and sweeter, softer. It ended abruptly, however, when Matt chuckled and pulled back so that he could speak. 

"So what does this mean for us now?" 

Adam seemed to give it a bit of serious thought. Unfortunately, his answer didn't exactly reflect that. "I guess we could sit around all day watching Queer as Folk reruns and giving each other back massages." 

Matt rolled his eyes but decided to simply change the subject rather than try to elicit any truthful response. "Adam?" 

"Hmm?" 

"When you're between a rock an' a hard place, uh . . . whaddya do?" 

Adam sighed lightly. "I make fun of whoever would say something so cheesy. But in my experience, I've learned that the hard place always wins." 

"Always?" 

A single blond eyebrow raised to a high peak. "Feel free to test that out." 


End file.
